


When the Sun Went Dark

by floralstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Character Death, Implied Relationships, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Leviathans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralstiel/pseuds/floralstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was over, and Dean didn’t even remember how he fought for it, how he tore his angel free from the monster occupying his destructing body. Castiel had lived for a few short years after that. He had been so weak, he was hardly promised even months. The Leviathan had destroyed his grace, his wings crushed and torn down to the last downy feather, and what stared out of those gorgeous blue eyes was no longer angelic, no longer ethereal, no longer beautiful. Castiel had become depressingly human before his spirit eventually gave out, not from lack of trying on his part. He was simply too tired, stretched too thin. He was surrendering the body to someone else now, someone who deserved a second chance at life just as he had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Sun Went Dark

“Jimmy c’mon, you’re gonna be late.” Dean groused from the doorway. The man lying in bed merely groaned, rolling over and kicking his leg off the side and shutting his eyes tighter against the lamp light. Dean rolled his eyes and crossed the room, kicking the bed with a boot clad foot.

“I said come on.” Dean said, though softer than before. No reply or movement from the slumbering man.

“Jimmy you can’t keep doing this. You gotta get back on the horse, man.”

“Why, just so you can ditch me? Is that it?” Jimmy mumbled with his face in the pillow, curling in on himself and shuddering. Dean paused and sighed, perching on the edge of the bed.

“Jimmy…I know these past few months have been tough, I know suddenly being back in your own body might be a little… _off_ , but you gotta put some effort into life, man.”

Jimmy rolled over and glared at Dean with puffed, red rimmed eyes.

“Why? Why should I? I’m like a fucking baby now, too much has changed, so much has happened, I don’t even know how to _function_ , Dean. Hell, sometimes I forget that, oh yeah, I _do_ have a working bladder.” Jimmy grimaced, looking away, “Those first few days at work were not pleasant.”

Dean winced. He had been the one to answer the phone to Jimmy’s frantic, sobbing account of how he pissed himself. _Pissed himself_ , a grown man and he pissed himself. Dean had to go pick him up early from work, Jimmy had been too embarrassed to stay the rest of the day though no one else saw but Dean. He had practically jogged into the office building with a spare pair of jeans and found the man huddled in his boxers in the abandoned corner bathroom, rocking beneath the broken hand dryers desperately towel drying his work pants. Dean handed him the jeans without a word, though he did squeeze the man’s shoulder in sympathy. Jimmy had looked up at him with those eyes of his, and for a moment Dean almost called him Castiel, but thankfully stopped himself.

He had only called him that once before, and it scared him that Jimmy answered without missing a beat. Dean didn’t want that for him. Jimmy needed his life back, and he wouldn’t get that living with the Winchesters.

“I can’t live anywhere else…I can’t support myself. I’ve spent so long living life strapped to a rocket turned nuclear warhead…I just can’t Dean, I can’t…”

“I know it’s gonna be hard, but just trust me, I know-”

“You don’t know _shit_! You never said ‘yes’ to Michael, you have no fucking idea how it felt!” Jimmy exploded, rearing up and knocking Dean’s hand away. His eyes were painfully bright, glistening with tears that had already began to stream down his face, marking it, trailing through the days’ worth of stubble littering his chin and jaw.

“Y-you’ve been doing so well at work though; it’s an easy job, you said so yourself.” Dean was just grasping for things at this point, he knew that. He already knew Sam’s decision on the matter. In his opinion he didn’t care what Jimmy decided to do, in fact, if he decided to join the Winchesters on their little cross-country hunting business, hey, three’s company. Dean didn’t want that though, like he said, he wanted Jimmy to have his own life, not so much one disconnected from them, just _his own_.

“I can’t stand it there…” Jimmy rasped, sagging against the sheets as if holding himself up took too much energy to bother. “The people…they’re nice but, I know they can tell. I see the way they watch me, see the way I talk, the way I walk. I’m not used to it, Dean. I’m not used to being my own person and they know it.” Jimmy clenched his fists in the sheets, tangling them, pulling them closer to his body, like a cocoon. “I-I need…” Jimmy shivered again, wrapping the multitude of blankets and pillows closer still, “I’m so alone, Dean…” He whined, grappling for his calloused hand and finding it, dragging it deep into the confines of his blanket mound. “I don’t want to be alone anymore, not like this…not like this…”

Dean allowed his hand to be held, sighing and glancing at the clock. There was no way Jimmy would make it to work in this state. He felt Jimmy’s hands shivering, felt his cool chest when his hand was drawn further in. His whole arm was encased in the warmth and soon Dean relented, leaning back against Jimmy’s hips and sighed.

“I can’t give you anything that could possibly compare to how being with Castiel felt, you know that.” He felt Jimmy’s grip tighten, but heard a muffled acquiescence. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and just imagining for a second what life with Jimmy would be like. Jimmy was so shocked about coming into his own body he quite literally forgot how to live, forgot how to be himself. He adopted a few of Castiel’s mannerisms, some Dean himself was painfully familiar with. The plaintive stares, the intermittent cocking of a head, lack of personal space afforded. It made differentiating between Castiel and Jimmy even harder. He saw nothing of the man he caught a glimpse of before, when Castiel had been taken back to Heaven. Hell, Jimmy didn’t even smile anymore. Not really.

“If you come with us, and that’s a big _if_ …you gotta promise me you’ll work hard to get over this. You’ll try and fix yourself, try and learn.”

Jimmy peeked out from behind the blankets, staring at Dean long and hard. Dean swallowed, caught in the silky sense of deja-vu.

“I’ll never fix this, Dean.”

Jimmy gave his notice the next day. There was a small going away party at his office, a trifling thing really, he had only worked there for the span of a few months’ time. Dean was haltingly suspicious that the employees all pitched in just to have an excuse to not work and eat cake for half an hour while they tried to find reasons why they’ll miss Mr. Novak, the charming man in cubicle number three. Jimmy was a trooper. Dean had accompanied him on request, he hadn’t been feeling well earlier that day and almost didn’t even leave the motel, and Dean had to drive him, attempting to console him and tell him that it was only allergies. Their eyes locked from across the room as Dean took a generous slice of generic-brand cake and saw Jimmy boxed in a corner by two elderly women from records and a fellow clerk.

His eyes were wide and animalistic, he looked ready to either bolt or puke any second and Dean hurriedly elbowed his way through the crowd, politely excusing Jimmy from coworkers and taking him out into the empty hallway. He held Jimmy’s shoulder tightly, calmly instructing the man to breathe, always breathe. Jimmy had told him once that in the heat of the battle, in any intense situation at all, Castiel would stop breathing. He supposed it took conscious thought for the angel to command his body to breathe, to function at all. But now, when pushed enough, Jimmy himself would stop breathing, be incapable of taking a fresh breath and he would panic, aggravating his condition even more. These habits he picked up from Castiel were less than healthy, to be sure.

“I wanna leave, Dean, I wanna leave…” Jimmy wheezed, attempting to squeeze the air in and out of his uncooperative lungs. Dean merely nodded, indulgent as if dealing with a child. There was nothing he could do now. Jimmy’s actions were proof that he could not survive on his own. There was no way he could. And even if he found someone to love, someone who would love him and care for him and look after him, they wouldn’t understand. Not like the Winchesters understood him.

“Okay,” Dean finally relented, half hugging him and leading him away from the room of people who didn’t seem to notice the man’s absence, “We’re going right now.”

 

Sam didn’t even bother looking surprised when Dean pulled into his driveway, moving to help Jimmy out into the brisk October air. He took their bags and led them inside without a word.

He had bought a house, and had been living there since they had taken Castiel back. He wanted out of the life, now that the perpetual hunt was practically over, but jobs kept cropping up all around him and he couldn’t help himself. Now his house had become like Bobby’s, an epicenter for all things Hunter.

“Uh, I already made a room for you upstairs, Jimmy, you can head on up if you want. It’s the only open door.” Jimmy nodded, but made no move for the stairs.

“Did you already put the extra blankets in there, like I asked?” Dean asked, looking over Jimmy’s slouched form to his brother. Sam nodded, and couldn’t help the sadness that showed on his face. He hadn’t been there when Castiel died, didn’t even know until Dean called him a few weeks ago, explaining their situation.

“And an extra space heater too.” Sam added, smiling a little Jimmy’s way when the man perked up. Dean told him about his cold spells too. How Jimmy constantly complained of this bone-deep, haunting chill. He had always been strapped to a ball of a light and grace and pure _energy_ , normal temperatures just didn’t cut it anymore.

“Why don’t you go on up there, I’ll be up in a second.” Dean murmured, Sam thought he sounded like he was talking to a child. But judging by what his brother had told him about Jimmy, such a tone of voice was befitting of his situation. Jimmy nodded, ripping his gaze from Dean’s and taking the slow trek up the stairs to his bedroom, leaving Sam and Dean in silence.

“So that’s Jimmy.”

Dean nodded, heading to the kitchen fully intending to down a cold one.

“He seems…different.”

Dean chuckled wryly, opening the refrigerator and shuffling its contents about.

“The guy’s fucked up, Sam. Castiel kinda gave me an idea of what it would be like for him before he died, but _damn_ …” He withdrew from the fridge successful, cold beer in hand. “Stuff I was telling you over the phone? Ain’t even the half of it. The guy literally can’t function. I can’t even tell you how many sheets I’ve changed in the middle of the night, how many times I’ve had to run out and buy adult diapers ‘cause the guy just doesn’t _know_ anymore. I mean, how fucked up is that?” He took a long swig of the beer, sighing appreciatively. “Thanks for letting us come here, Sam. He needs somewhere stable, a place he can call home that doesn’t move around every few states.”

Sam merely nodded, watching silently while his brother downed the rest of the beer, tossing it in the garbage and wearily grabbing both their bags.

“Gonna be alright?” Sam asked, and Dean paused, smiling a little.

“Yeah, just like taking care of a kid I guess. He isn’t always cold either, he gets hot a lot too, so just be wary, he might try to drop the thermostat down below 50 at some point, just wait.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Sam replied, leveling his gaze and Dean swallowed, looking away.

“I’ll be fine.”

Dean walked upstairs and Sam heard the door slam and the shuffle of two pairs of feet before he sighed, stretching and going back to bed himself.

 

Sam knocked on the door numerous times before just huffing and opening the door on his own, uncaring whether or not the room’s occupants were decent. He sighed when he saw the giant pile of pillows sheets and blankets jumbled together on the mattress on the floor that rose and fell softly. He kicked it lightly with his foot.

“C’mon Cas, breakfast.” He mumbled sleepily.

“Five more minutes…” Jimmy moaned, rolling around in his cocoon, and Sam smiled. The act was so normal he almost forgot that anything was wrong with him. He moved on to Dean’s bed but was surprised to see his brother already pulling himself up.

“You called him Cas…” Dean whispered, and Sam’s breath hitched, eyes darting to the pile of blankets.

“Don’t worry, I doubt he noticed, he never does.”

“How many times have you called him that?”

Dean sighed and stood, stretching his arms over his head and groaning happily when a few pops were heard from his spine. He looked at Sam carefully.

“Too many times to count.”

Sam watched when Dean padded over and extricated Jimmy from his blanket pile, pulling him to his feet and checking the sheets and his boxers sluggishly and smiled, patting him on the shoulder and moving him to the bathroom. Sam didn’t miss the almost joy in Jimmy’s face at accomplishing something so small. It was like his brain had been reset, like he was a toddler all over again and Dean and Sam were his doting parents, proud that he finally learned that Mr. Toilet was his friend.

Breakfast was a small affair. Jimmy never regained his infamous appetite, opting instead for a lighter diet, becoming an almost vegetarian though he did tolerate small bites of Dean’s sausage mixed in with his scrambled eggs. Sam welcomed the idea of a fellow “lettuce-lover” as Dean put it. Jimmy only quirked his lips in his new half smile and finished eating. He stood after his last bite and retreated back upstairs. Sam looked at Dean, wondering if he should be worried, but by the way Dean was shoveling food in his mouth and reading the Sunday paper he knew there wasn’t a problem.

“He likes to sleep if there’s nothing else to do.” Dean explained, refilling his glass with orange juice and chugging it down. Sam nodded, but pursed his lips. He needed to find something for Jimmy to do; he couldn’t lie around all day and sleep. That wasn’t healthy, even compared with some of his other new habits.

“What else does he like to do? Does he have any hobbies?”

Dean chuckled and straightened his paper.

“He likes to watch cartoons and read the bible, but that’s about it.”

“The bible?” Sam asked, lifting and eyebrow. After everything Jimmy had been through he was surprised the man still held onto his faith. Dean nodded, turning the page.

“He’s been asking to go to church too, though I don’t think that’s gonna be a good idea.”

“Why?”

“What if people recognize his face? We lucked out at his old job, but I know a church will be a whole different story. You remember the last time Cas was in a church.”

Sam swallowed, remembering reading about the incident with the preacher many months later. He also remembered the extensive news footage on his actions, especially at the campaign office where he finally snapped.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “Maybe that isn’t such a good idea…”

 

“Dean.”

“Hunh.”

“Dean.”

“What, Jimmy?”

“It’s Sunday.”

Dean looked away from the television to Jimmy’s blanket pile, taking in the man’s childishly hopeful face. Dean nodded, but made no move to stand. Jimmy bit his lip and looked down at his twitching fingers.

“Y-you said last week we could go to church…”

Dean sighed and leaned his head back. He forgot about that little white lie, he told him that to calm him down one night when he couldn’t sleep. He had just read a particularly dark section of the bible, something about unrepentant sinners and the everlasting fires of hell. Of course, that could be any number of pages in the bible, but Jimmy was freaking out and Dean panicked. He didn’t think to remind him that he was far from a sinner; he had been an angel’s vessel for heaven’s sake! Some would call him a saint after everything he’d been through, but not Jimmy. Apparently he hadn’t done enough in the Lord’s name, and going to church every Sunday would help that.

“Jimmy…both me and Sam don’t think that would be the best idea…”

Dean almost cracked at the answering expression from Jimmy; he looked crushed, downtrodden, beaten, and Dean wanted to take it all back and just drive him to nearest church then and there. But he couldn’t, Jimmy’s safety came first.

“B-but Dean…I…” Jimmy looked back down to his hands, and Dean could see the beginnings of a tear welling up in the wrinkled corner of the man’s eye.

“Hey, hey, c’mon now…” Dean soothed, going over and sitting next to Jimmy, patting his back, “We’re doing this for a reason. We just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Jimmy nodded silently, but the tears refused to stop.

Dean set his jaw, pinching the bridge of his nose and sitting back on his haunches. There was nothing he could say at this point that wouldn’t upset the man, and he didn’t want that to happen.

“Jimmy…how much do you remember from when Cas became ‘God’?”

Jimmy frowned, looking down at his hands.

“Not much, just bits and pieces. I remember seeing you and Sam on several occasions, a homeless man, a campaign office…but nothing else really.”

Dean nodded.

“Well, there was one day where Cas went to a church,” Jimmy sucked in a breath but didn’t interrupt, “and killed the preacher…for basically being a hypocrite under God’s– _his_ –name.”

Jimmy sat there in silence, staring down at his hands with his brow furrowed.

“I-I see…”

“So can you see why we can’t take you to a church? Word spreads fast when it comes to churches man…”

Jimmy nodded, but his expression didn’t change.

 

A few weeks passed by, bit of the same old over and over, but then Jimmy started with the scratching. Dean wasn’t sure if it was some new product of his condition or if this was something new, point is he got to scratching so hard he tore clean through his skin, on his back—as far as he could reach—and his shoulders, stomach, arms and lower legs.

Sam quietly suggested clipping his nails at first, and Jimmy took it in silence, biting his lip near raw when Dean sat him down on the lip of the bathtub and methodically clipped each nail down almost to the bed. Jimmy never resisted, he even thanked Dean once he was finished, absently rubbing over his arm, fingertips playing over the raw, red patches of abused skin. Dean glanced warily at the other splotches of aggravated skin around his arms and legs, at the bandaids and scabs all over him, and new this would be only a temporary fix.

When Jimmy started at it again not even the next day, finding things around the house he could use, Dean went out. He went to a nearby pharmacy first, stocking up on antiseptic and bandages, then to the dollar mart across the street. He walked through the aisles, picking at the odds and ends that caught his eye until he reached the leftovers from winter, all with bright red sale stickers on them. Gloves and mittens and hats, even a few scarves, but Dean only paid attention to the mittens. They really only had a few pairs, two were meant for children, leaving just one pair left, eggshell white and looking entirely too effeminate for Dean’s taste, but he wasn’t buying them to be fashionable. Dean bought them and a few candy bars and left.

When Dean took Jimmy’s shaking hands in his and shoved them into the mittens, it was then that Jimmy started a struggle. He started to whine and shuffle, and with one quick look from Dean Sam was behind him, bracing one large arm around Jimmy’s shoulders to hold him in place, the other around his waist.

“N-no…” Jimmy groaned, and Dean ignored him, pulling the fastening strings on them tight, tying them shut.

“No!”

“It’s for your own good!” Dean growled over his shouts, and Sam looked like he barely had to strain to keep Jimmy still, his struggles weakening with each second until he hung in Sam’s arms like a limp doll, panting with his eyes shut tight. His hands twitched in their new knit confines, and Dean had to fight to swallow around the lump in his throat. He felt like shit treating Jimmy this way, it wasn’t right, the man couldn’t even defend himself, he was weak and Dean and Sam willingly took advantage of that. He hoped Jimmy would forgive him someday, once this was all behind them.

 


End file.
